“Is your pig farm near the sea?” Azmin asked, leaning out the carriage window as it rolled down a perfectly civilized macadam road. “I smell salt air.”
She looked too luscious to ignore any longer. Giving up on reading the presentations various architects had made for the new research facility, Zane glanced out the window. “I was here only once, during a great fog. I doubt I saw more than the roadside. Does the sea make a difference?”
She cast him an incredulous glance, then grinned. “City boy. Now put that medical degree to work and think about Louisa for just a moment.”
Zane took that moment to appreciate that his bride was even more beautiful than the day they’d exchanged vows to love, honor, and take each other in equality. That day, she’d worn a silver-blue sari to match her eyes—a garment which peeled off to reveal next to nothing when he’d taken her to bed. Today, she wore the new pelisse he’d given her, in the same silver-blue. He’d ordered it lined with soft shearling so she could wear her flimsy silks anytime she liked. Today, though, she’d worn a long-sleeved gown of russet and gold, adorned with sufficient flounces to be declared fashionable enough for a viscountess—and colorful enough to be all Azmin.
Zane dragged his thoughts away from peeling off those flounces and back to his niece. “Rural air and sunshine are always better for any form of lung infection than city air,” he acknowledged. “We lack the ability to tell if an infection is pneumococcal or tubercular, but either way, clean air, fresh food, and healthy exercise will alleviate the symptoms and slow the infection. Once my mother arrives, she’ll be able to use her healing talent to cure whatever it is your photograph shows us. Louisa’s prognosis is far better than it was. I fail to see how sea air factors in.”
“Salt,” she reminded him. “Salt is a strong element that can scrub her lungs or that of anyone else suffering from lung infection. I hope this estate isn’t crumbling to the ground. I have so many ideas. . .”
Zane laughed and tugged her into his arms. “I believe you’ll send ideas from heaven long after you’re gone.”
“I love hearing you laugh again.” She snuggled against his chest and her hat feathers brushed his chin. “Even if the building is falling apart, it will be a safe place for Mrs. Jenkins and Mrs. Stewart and any other women who need to hide and regroup.”
Both women were traveling more slowly behind them, accompanying Louisa, who insisted on seeing an earl’s estate.
“My father will particularly appreciate a sanatorium for Louisa and others like her,” Zane said with relish, knowing his father would now have to take up the responsibility he shirked. “He might even condescend to visit his own estate, since he lives considerably closer than we do.”
“And your mother won’t be able to stay away if there is healing to be done. And you called it a pig farm,” she said in amusement. “I almost told the aunts that they might consider it for their school.” She frowned a bit in worry. “They’re afraid if Max doesn’t return, his cousin will declare him dead and cut off their allowances.”
“Don’t you have a ‘finder’ relation out searching for him?” Zane knew he’d embroiled himself even deeper in the Malcolm family weirdness with his marriage, but every positive had a negative side.
“Not yet. It’s an expensive search, and the aunts aren’t wealthy. For now, we’re relying on a network of friends and relations. Now that Keya’s inheritance is confirmed, she’s helping a bit, along with Mr. Morgan. But she wants to invest her funds for her family.”
“Not the second wife, I trust, not after your father verified she was related to Ulf,” Zane said warily. Mail and telegrams had been flying fast and furious these last weeks, and he never knew when the women would strike him with some new revelation.
“Keya’s family has been informed that no funds are to go to her,” she said loftily. “They are currently handling the estate per her instructions.”
“We’ll see how long that lasts. I think Morgan has bought Keya a ring, but he’s too terrified to ask.” Zane chortled.
Azmin swelled with hope that Keya might someday share the joy of a good man’s love as she did. Still, she punched Zane’s arm at his unromantic attitude and sat up again to watch out the window. “It’s such a glorious day! Look at those trees blossoming.”
“An orchard of some sort, I surmise.” Zane studied the landscape they passed. “It looks well-tended.”
The carriage horses trotted around a curve and the house came into view.
Both of them had lived in larger mansions, but Edmond House extended impressively along a hilltop, with two large wings off a tall central edifice. As the carriage rolled up the drive, servants poured through the front door and formed a double line down the stairs.
“I think that answers a few questions,” Azmin said dryly. “You need only sign checks to pay the staff, and they’ll manage from there.”
“I’ve been corresponding with the estate steward. He takes care of pay and rents and has for years. The solicitors audit his accounts. All seems well. Whether they’ll accept our plans is another story entirely. We’ll need nurses for a sanatorium. Teachers if you mean to bring in abused women of every class. Instead of housing earls and countesses, we’ll be housing commoners. The servants may rebel. Bigotry isn’t limited to the upper classes, you know.” Zane almost bit off his tongue when he realized what he’d just said.
But Azmin seemed perfectly cognizant of the criticism she faced. She beamed even more brightly. “I give you permission to sack anyone who insults a viscountess. Power has gone to my head.”
Zane laughed, kissed her, and mussed her hair as the carriage pulled up to the stairs and the waiting staff. “You’re a mean woman, but Mr. Stewart needed to be sacked. He was a rotten teacher and did not treat the college’s new female students with respect.”
“Now that she is seeing more clearly and has some support, Eleanor has hired a very good solicitor,” Azmin said in satisfaction, studying the lines of neatly uniformed servants. “Divorce is only possible for adultery or desertion, so she’s only filing for separation for cruelty. She’s feeling protective of other women at the moment. She doesn’t want the blackguard marrying anyone else.”
Zane stepped out and offered his hand up to help her descend. “She has an infant to think of for the moment. She may change her mind later. Maybe the laws will change by then. Smile, they’re watching every movement.”
Azmin laughed, shook out her new pelisse so it revealed only glimpses of her russet and gold skirt, and took his arm to face their future.
Having been prepared for this moment by the steward, and his consultation with the earl of Lochmas, Zane stood still for a moment, letting his bride absorb the staff his eccentric relation had gathered—from all over the world.
Azmin beamed at the colorful array of faces. “Your uncle traveled widely, I take it?”
“No, he was crippled by a stroke decades ago and decided to bring the world to him.” He nodded at several young Asian maids bobbing curtsies. “Your wandering relations aided his cause. Had I not been so obsessed with saving Louisa, I might have met the rather extraordinary old man. My horizons need widening,” Zane admitted as a solemn black man opened the door.
“Then we shall travel to meet my father and explore the world as soon as your other obligations are satisfactorily completed. I’m so glad I brought my equipment. I’ll have some extraordinary photographs by the time we leave here.” Azmin lifted her skirt and followed him, greeting each disparate servant with delight.
Zane did not argue with his wife’s need to carry on her photography. He planned on giving her a studio in his new research building—so they might explore the use of photography in determining infections and disease. It was a long shot, but research had to begin somewhere.
“I am the world’s happiest woman,” Azmin whispered as Zane led her into a grand foyer stocked with curiosity cabinets crammed with exotic ornaments. “I’m so glad you threw eggs at me.”
The halls echoed with Zane’s laughter.